


falling where they may

by ivefoundmygoldfish (melonpanparade)



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: M/M, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-14
Updated: 2015-07-14
Packaged: 2018-04-09 07:52:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4340171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melonpanparade/pseuds/ivefoundmygoldfish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merlin isn't afraid of heights, but he is afraid of falling.</p>
            </blockquote>





	falling where they may

**Author's Note:**

> Prompts: aircraft, glasses, jitters
> 
> Written for this [tumblr meme](http://ivefoundmygoldfish.tumblr.com/post/121836088358/ficmemes-ficlet-meme-doctorxroseprompts-put). Probably set sometime early in their service to Kingsman.

It’s not exactly a fear of heights. He’s at ease when he’s walking along the top floor of a high-rise building, or when he’s safely seated in commercial aircraft. In fact, when he was younger, he’d even entertained the idea of being a pilot one day.

No, it’s the prospect of falling that gets to him—the very thought of hurtling down free fall for thousands of metres without any way to stop, without any modicum of control. Even the knowledge of the parachute tucked away in his gear does nothing to soothe his frazzled nerves.

As he sits in the back of the small aircraft with his knees firmly pressed against Harry’s, there’s no mistaking the sinking feeling in his stomach as he considers the next step of their mission: jump off the small aircraft to carry out the next leg of their mission. While they’re no longer in enemy space, it doesn’t make him feel any less apprehensive.

Merlin swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down, yet his mouth is so dry it does nothing for his parched throat. One glance out the small window behind Harry’s head, and all Merlin can see is the expanse of cloud cover stretching for miles on end.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, _fuck_ ,” he mutters, rubbing his hands up and down his thighs. His palms are cold and sweaty inside the gloves, and he can’t seem to keep his hands still.

With concern written all over his face, Harry edges forward in his seat, knees jostling against Merlin’s in the process. He reaches out to his friend, and in turn, Merlin leans towards him, catching his wrists in his gloved hands. Merlin’s grip is tight, so tight that Harry will probably have bruises to show for it tomorrow, but that’s the furthest thing on their minds right now.

“Hey. It’ll be alright; you’ve done this before. _We’ve_ done this before.”

“Not like that makes it any easier,” Merlin grates out through clenched teeth. Shooting Harry an apologetic look, he frees Harry’s wrists from his clutch and returns his hands to his lap, fidgeting out of nervousness. “I just—I fucking hate—”

“Falling, I know,” finishes Harry, reassuring Merlin with that crooked, warm smile of his.

The smile works wonders; the butterflies in Merlin’s stomach are calming down already. They’re no longer doings loops, barrel rolls, spins, or hammerheads; instead the churning in his stomach has dwindled to a steady, yet unobtrusive flutter. It’s still unsettling, but at least it’s bearable.

Over the comm, their pilot makes an announcement. “Make sure your helmets are fastened, boys. I’m opening the hatch in 2 minutes.”

“Glasses, Merlin,” reminds Harry. His own pair is already tucked away in a safe place, but Merlin is so accustomed to wearing them that he has a tendency to forget about their existence.

Merlin nods, and then removes them before picking up his helmet. The helmet is equipped with the same technology embedded in the glasses, as well as several extra features to determine height, speed, and direction. Under normal conditions, Merlin would be analysing the piece of technology in his hands, cataloguing its strengths and weaknesses, determining how it could be made more efficient and effective. However, these conditions are far from normal. Instead, Merlin’s gaze is unfocused, and his hands are beginning to shake again.  

“Harry,” he whispers, lifting his eyes to meet Harry’s, seeking out the reassurance he knows he’ll find there.

“Perhaps this would be easier if you had something else on your mind.” Harry falters for a moment, fear flashing across his face, and then he surges forward, pressing a quick kiss to the corner of Merlin’s mouth.

Merlin’s eyes widen. The butterflies are back again, looping and rolling and spinning endlessly with full force, but it’s different this time.

There are so many questions he wants to ask— _Since when, Harry? Why me, Harry? …Can we do it again, Harry?_ —but before he can speak, Harry presses a gloved finger to Merlin’s lips, eyes full of promise.

“Don’t be afraid to fall—I’ll be waiting for you on the ground.”

Silently and quickly, Harry turns away to don his helmet and affix the oxygen tube. Merlin mirrors his movements beside him, both aware of their pressing time constraints. Moments later, the hatch opens, and Harry gives him one last smile before he makes the jump. And with the butterflies still fluttering in his stomach, Merlin manages a grim smile, and follows suit.


End file.
